


Innocence

by KNSkns



Series: Life By Inches Trilogy [1]
Category: Farscape
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:35:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21889030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KNSkns/pseuds/KNSkns
Summary: This time, this is what happened. AU fic, set post BT by one or two cycles. In order to fully understand this fic, or at least partially understand it, you need to be familiar with "Promises" and "A Constellation of Doubt".
Relationships: Chiana (Farscape)/Ka D'Argo, John Crichton/Aeryn Sun, Scorpius (Farscape)/Sikozu Svala Shanti Sugaysi Shanu
Series: Life By Inches Trilogy [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1576762
Comments: 1
Kudos: 3





	Innocence

**Author's Note:**

  * For [E.M.Porter (aka OfficerSun524)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=E.M.Porter+%28aka+OfficerSun524%29).



> Originally posted before 2006.
> 
> Empty is  
> the sky before the sun wakes up in the morning.  
> The eyes of animals in cages.  
> The faces of women  
> when everything has been taken  
> from them.  
> Me?  
> Don't ask me about empty.  
> ~ Rod McKuen "Empty Is"

Disclaimer: Still not mine, even after all these years.

Can a half human, half Sebacean child die of heat delirium?

"Come on, baby Aeryn. Come on, baby Crichton." Chiana gently bounces the infant, tries to get her to make some kind of sound. Even through the silk blankets she can feel the heat, the killing heat. The child is beyond quiet, making not a sound; it regards her with blue Crichton eyes and stoic Sun demeanor.

Can a half Sebacean, half human child die of heat delirium?

D'Argo has retreated, unable to bear the impending doom. He cannot watch a child die. He is a warrior, knows how to fight and plan strategy and "go down swinging." His negotiating skills are marginal at best, and the enemy has refused all terms except unconditional surrender. He would give his own life gladly, without hesitation, but even that offer has been rejected. The warrior capable of surviving torture and imprisonment cannot watch a child fade. He had fled the scene of battle.

The field belongs to her now. This is her strength: to not know when to surrender, when to stop fighting. "I always stay too long," she'd once told a Luxan halfbreed, and it's still true. She can't stop trying, even when everything in the universe screams she should. She'd once boasted, "I can kick, kiss, or cry my way out of anything." Now she gently rocks a burning child and sings a lullaby learned in a mining colony. She improvises the words she doesn't know; she's always been good at making up things as she goes along. The silent child makes no objection.

Can a child born to a human and Sebacean die of an unbreakable fever?

It would seem so.

"Chiana."

She turns at the sound of her name. In this cold chamber stands one who has grown cold as the void of space, the warmth leeched from her until she is like the infinite area between two stars. She comes closer, step by step, her motions noiseless as her child. In the darkened room of shadows and cold, the mother of the dying child is already half dead herself.

Chiana holds out the bundle of burning silk when Aeryn is close enough. For a moment their arms form a circle, the child at the center. The Nebari looks into the taller woman's eyes and bursts into tears - not the nice, tidy tears she has cried before, but great wrenching sobs that shake her shoulders and leave her gasping for breath. She sees the truth in her sister-friend's eyes, and finally realizes there is no justice in the universe. "Can't you -" she begins, quickly swallows the question in a sob. Shame adds a new flavor to the tears.

Aeryn frees a hand for an instant, lays it on her cheek. Forgiveness comes in a mother's touch, and the Nebari weeps so hard she thinks she might be ill.

"Thank you, Chiana." Aeryn takes the child and turns away.

Chiana stumbles towards the door. "This isn't fair," she wants to scream, but her voice is otherwise occupied.

A thousand kisses can't buy a cure, there are no eemas left to kick, and all her tears won't guarantee another arn of time.

It's about revenge.

A simple theory: I hurt you, you hurt me. You take what I love, I take what you love. Equality between us comes at last: I have nothing, you have nothing. We both lose. Simple.

But it makes no sense.

All his strength is for nothing. Words have never been his weapons, but the blood of a thousand warriors runs through his veins. Even among his own kind he is hailed as a mighty soldier, true of heart and sharp of mind, a valuable ally and loyal friend. This means nothing now. It is worth nothing.

He walks down the golden corridors beside his closest friend and has no comfort to offer. The human is heartsick, wounded in his soul, so ill that even his permanent sense of humor has fled. His tongue is still, silent as the space between two stars. His eyes are losing their brightness, though they have gained red rims and dark shadows. His hands, so small by Luxan standards, curl and uncurl into fists, as if trying to grasp something that they should be able to find, to hold - but cannot.

D'Argo looks at his own hands. They have done so much. Why can they not do this last thing? He would do anything to save his friend's child, fight any enemy, wade headlong into any battle, make any sacrifice - but his strength is worth nothing.

All for revenge. A simple concept with an extraordinary price.

Chiana is sitting on the deck, her face turned against one of Moya's golden ribs. She is weeping the tears of exhaustion, hot and slow and made of pure emotion.

Crichton stops beside her. "Is the baby -" he begins tightly, stops.

The Nebari shakes her head. "With Aeryn." The only explanation she can make.

For a microt he lays a hand on her head. "Don't cry, Pip." Then he turns away.

D'Argo puts a hand on his shoulder. "John," he says simply, not knowing what else to say.

The fading blue eyes regard him without reproach. "I know," he answers. "Thanks. For everything."

After his friend is gone, the Luxan sinks down beside the Nebari. She does not turn to him; she has learned to keep her grief to herself.

One child with four parents: two mothers, two fathers. All of them useless. Strength has nothing to do with it.

Revenge. Not that I am stronger than you, but that you are weaker than me.

[]

Crichton looked down at the object and frowned. "Don't you think she's a little young for that?"

D'Argo shook his head. "No, no - you have to start early with children. Give her this to play with, and she'll grow up to be a strong warrior." He picked up the stick, waved it around in the air as if to demonstrate. "She'll love it."

Crichton critically regarded the stick. Although slender, it was nearly the length of his arm - but it was beautiful, faint ruins carved into pale wood, a small red stone set in both ends. "It's almost twice her size. And I don't even know what it is."

The Luxan whipped it around a few more times. "It's a chloen, a tool to train hand-eye coordination. I've never seen one this elaborate before." He twirled the stick between his fingers. "She'll love it."

"Her Uncle D'Argo certainly does," Crichton said wryly. "I don't know if I want her playing with weapon-training toys."

"And what do you think all those things are that Aeryn gives her to play with?" D'Argo returned. Without waiting for a reply, he turned and began to haggle over a price with the merchant.

Crichton sighed and shook his head. Casually he scanned the crowd of people flowing around them, only half listening to his friend bickering with the merchant. A new commerce planet, a new toy for Suzhaana. If it wasn't D'Argo then it was Chiana - who stole gifts for his daughter, he suspected, although she only laughed when he asked. Even Rygel occasionally appeared with something completely unsuitable for an infant, like a large-stoned necklace or elaborate metal belt. If his friends had their way, little Zhaana would grow up a fighting thief dressed like royalty.

Rygel appeared in the tide of shoppers, spotted Crichton and edged his way through the ebb and flow until his thronesled floated beside the human. "That Luxan acquiring another useless toy for the child?" he snorted. "I found something for her of true value. Where is she?"

"Off with Aeryn and Chi, learning to do girl stuff," he answered. He smiled, hearing D'Argo curse the merchant. Poor D'Argo - negotiating just wasn't his forte.

"Learning to buy weapons, you mean," Rygel said. "Learning to intimidate a merchant into throwing in free chakkan oil with the purchase of a pulse pistol."

"Yeah. Girl stuff," Crichton repeated. He stumbled forward a little when D'Argo suddenly pounded him on the back.

"Success," the Luxan gloated, "at a price even you would have approved, your eminence."

Rygel snorted. "I doubt it. What useless object are you going to pawn off on that child now?"

The trio set off to find the girls.

But the other half of the group wasn't at the tavern where they'd agreed to meet. Crichton was more annoyed than worried - he wanted to get back to Moya in time for Zhaana's afternoon nap. If she didn't get her nap, she'd want to go to bed early, and then she'd wake up in the middle of the sleep cycle, hungry and ready to be entertained. . . An arn passed, then another. Annoyance changed to concern, concern to fear.

"We can't split up," D'Argo said, for once the voice of reason. "If they are in trouble, it might take all of us to get them out. Especially if it's Chiana's doing."

They searched together. The innocuous city on the commerce planet became more and more menacing as day turned to evening. Shadows grew, and so did Crichton's fear. Where were they? The Peacekeepers hadn't been after them for almost two cycles, not since Grayza's bargain at Katratzi. Neala's people had never appeared on the scene. Still, there were enough other groups that wanted their heads. . .

Aeryn had tried to tell him once, just once, that Zhaana was particularly vulnerable because she was their child. "We both have enemies."

"I know that," he'd replied easily. "Don't worry so much. It's time for some good luck to come our way."

Had their luck run out? These past monens had been like paradise - just him and Aeryn and Zhaana, a real family. Safe on Moya, surrounded by friends. No Peacekeepers after them. No shortage of food. No more hiding in Tormented Space. Paradise.

"Wait." D'Argo halted suddenly, sniffed the air.

"This is as bad as Valdon," Rygel muttered softly. "At least Stark isn't here."

"They were here," D'Argo said. "I can smell Chiana's scent. And Aeryn and Zhaana. . .and something else familiar. . .Frell." He turned away from the main thoroughfare, down a side alley between two main streets.

Crichton was after him in an instant, his pulse pistol in his hands.

They found Chiana half sprawled against a wall, half in shadow. Her eyes were closed; her hands were pressed to a gaping wound in her side.

"Chiana!" D'Argo dropped to his knees beside her, abandoned his Qualta blade to shake her. "Chiana!"

Crichton felt as if his heart had stopped.

"Is she -" Rygel began.

With a wordless but weak snarl, the Nebari snapped awake under D'Argo's hands. "Aeryn -"

"Chiana." D'Argo stopped shaking her. "What happened? Where's Aeryn and the child?"

Chiana turned her head dumbly from side to side. "Th-they came out of nowhere. Aeryn - s-she almost had them, but more came -"

"Who, Chiana? Where did they go?" Crichton asked. His mind was divided: one part thinking of Chiana (that wound looks awful, at least she's alive), one part thinking of Aeryn and Zhaana (where are they, who has them?)

"She almost got clear," Chiana stuttered, tears suddenly forming in her eyes. "But I - I took a shot, and she wouldn't go. . . I tried to make her go, D'Argo, I tried -"

"Who took them, Chiana?" Rygel demanded.

"T-th-the Hokothians," Chiana wept. "Crichton, I'm sorry -"

They took Chiana back to Moya. Noranti declared she would survive. The Nebari turned her face to the wall and fought against that optimistic prognosis. By his own choice, Rygel stayed with her in the medbay.

Crichton and D'Argo continued searching. Chiana's wound wasn't more than three arns old, by Noranti's guess. Three arns wasn't that long. . .

Three arns was forever.

Harvey wasn't helping matters. In his mind's eye, Crichton could see the neural clone dressed like a highschool teacher from the 'sixties, horn-rimmed glasses and godawful polyester suit, ill-fitting toupee slapped over the coolant-suit cowl. While he sat at a small student desk, Harvey paced back and forth before a giant blackboard, a long wooden yardstick in his hands.

"You can't ignore the facts, John," Harvey told him condescendingly, just like all his old teachers had addressed him.

"I don't need your advice, Harvey," Crichton returned. "I've already got a full plate here."

Harvey smacked the chalkboard with his ruler. "Fact: Aeryn has been taken by the Hokothians. Fact: Aeryn assassinated their leader. Fact: the Hokothians want revenge. Fact: the Hokothians have her child. Now, John, what do all these facts tell you?"

Crichton stood up, went to Harvey and snatched the ruler from his hands. "Get back in the dumpster," he said softly, very softly.

"That won't change the facts," Harvey returned.

Arn turned to arn, a day passed, then two.

Crichton was going insane.

It was all coming back to him - desperation, fear, helplessness. Things he hadn't felt since that time Aeryn was held by the Scarrens, and he'd known nothing except the name of some hidden military base. He had less than that now, and more to lose. He didn't even have the slim chance of exchanging wormhole knowledge for a halfling's help.

"It is not my will who lives and who dies," Sikozu had once screamed at him. "Everything lives and everything dies and you have to live with that."

But he couldn't.

He sat down on the edge of the bed (his bed, Aeryn's bed) and put his head in his hands.

You can't ignore facts, John. . .

Everything dies. . .

"Commander!" Pilot's voice broke through his thoughts. "A command carrier has entered Moya's sense horizon. They've sent a transmission. Aeryn and Suzhaana are aboard."

Crichton looked up at the ceiling and smiled as tears of relief welled in his eyes.

"Crichton? Did you hear me?" Pilot asked.

They took a transport pod to meet the carrier. Noranti stayed with Moya, supposedly to tend Chiana, but the Nebari had other plans. Upon hearing that both Aeryn and Zhaana were safe, she climbed off her deathbed and left the medbay, refusing to go back. Even Rygel agreed to visit the carrier, although he grumbled about it "being a trick" the entire way over.

The docking bay where D'Argo brought the pod to rest was eerily empty. One lone figure stood there to greet them. Hair of flame and clothes of crimson, she hadn't changed at all in two cycles.

"Sikozu Shanu," Rygel greeted her, not sounding terribly pleased. "What are you doing here, Kalish?"

"Still without common manners, I see," she replied haughtily. "Hello Crichton, D'Argo, Chiana."

Chiana laughed. "Sikozu - still with Scorpius. Somehow, I'm not surprised."

Crichton reached out to briefly squeeze her shoulder, grinned when she glared at him. "Hey, goldilocks. Good to see you. Where's Aeryn and the baby?"

Sikozu's glare faded.

PK medbay. Almost the last place in the galaxy where he wanted to be.

But Aeryn was there.

She was sitting on the edge of a bed, taking to - who else? - Scorpius. Sikozu had warned him that she'd been wounded, and it was true. Both her hands were bandaged. She held her left leg at an unnatural angle, as if it were newly healed. When she shook her head at Scorpius' words, he could see the bruises on her face - yellow now and fading, but not yet gone.

But she was alive, and mostly whole.

"Aeryn," he said - a prayer, a blessing, a talisman against evil.

His voice carried across the room. She turned to look at him, and they stared at each other for a long moment. Then she smiled, pushed away from the bunk and past Scorpius.

He wasn't listening to her explanation; he was twisting his fingers through her hair and smiling like an idiot. Once he heard her say that Zhaana was alive, he stopped listening. Nothing mattered other than that she and the baby were alive.

She couldn't tell him -

So she told him about the capture, about being held aboard the Hokothian ship, about getting off a general distress signal to the PK station. She told him about the rescue, how a group of commandos had boarded the ship and taken control in a matter of microts, and how Scorpius had decreed that she and the baby were to be treated with utmost care.

But she didn't tell him -

How could she, when he was looking at her like that, when he was acting as if he'd just been given back the only things he cared about in the entire galaxy?

She took him to the pediatric unit in the medbay. The instant he looked through the transparent barrier and saw Zhaana swaddled in a coolant suit, the euphoria fell from him like a cloak.

"What the frell -" he turned to look at her, angry and confused. "Aeryn?"

Then she told him. "It was about revenge, John. The Hokothians wanted to punish me, but once you've been infected and cured of their biotoxin, you can't be reinfected. They used Zhaana to get to me." No hesitation, no it-wasn't-my-fault. It was her fault, and she wouldn't lie to him.

He shook his head. "No. No, no, no." He turned away from her, paced a few steps. "We can get the cure -"

"They were not carrying the antidote." Scorpius entered the unit, slowly moved towards Crichton. "They didn't even realize Officer Sun would be on that commerce planet, although they have been searching for her for quite a while. I have my best interrogators working with the surviving Hokothian as we speak." He paused, then added, "It is good to see you again, John, even if the circumstances are less than ideal."

Aeryn watched her mate shake his head again, at Scorpius or the situation or both. "Have you tried the Chair?"

Scorpius chuckled. "Oh yes. Hokothian physiology is - unique. The Chair is ineffective. But more traditional methods will suffice, I assure you."

Crichton turned to look at her.

She didn't know what to say. It was her fault, and she wouldn't lie to him.

Her child was dying. The coolant suit was having no effect. Zhaana's temperature continued to rise, her chance of recovery continued to fall.

And Crichton didn't blame her. "It's not your fault," he said time and time again. "You didn't know the Hokothians would be there. You couldn't have left Chiana. You tried to fight, to keep Zhaana safe."

But he was wrong.

She couldn't eat, couldn't sleep, couldn't do anything except watch her child die.

The others didn't blame her, either. Chiana stayed at her side constantly, brought her food she couldn't stomach and liquids she wouldn't drink. D'Argo offered to take Lo'La and find the Hokothian homeworld, make some sort of deal for the antidote. But she refused, knowing there wasn't time, even if he had something the Hokothians wanted.

It was her fault. The child was suffering for the mother's actions.

[]

On the third day, as she was emerging from the shower, Crichton appeared in their quarters, Zhaana in his arms, desperation in his eyes.

"What are you doing?" she demanded, taking the child from him. "You shouldn't have brought her onto Moya, away from the physicians -"

"The physicians can't heal her," Crichton said roughly. "We can at least be together."

So as a family they went to the coldest room on the Leviathan. On the room's one bed, Aeryn laid down, Zhaana in her arms, Crichton beside her. They wept for the child that was soon to leave them.

The child herself was silent, having long given over her exhausted wails, but she watched her parents with bright, bright eyes.

"Officer Sun."

Pilot's voice was soft, barely above a whisper. "Aeryn."

"Yes, Pilot." Her voice was hoarse, low, tired from tears and guilt.

"Scorpius has sent a transmission. He says he urgently needs to speak with you."

She looked down at the child, held between her and Crichton. Slowly she pulled away, left Zhaana in her father's care. Perhaps he could do better by her than she could - he certainly couldn't do worse.

"Tell him I'm coming."

There was no posturing from Scorpius. He met her in the docking bay, was waiting by her prowler by the time the canopy opened.

"The last Hokothian finally broke," he told her bluntly. "We know how to formulate an antidote."

For an instant she only stood there. Then she threw back her head and laughed until her voice rang out in the bay, and techs paused to stare at her.

"Excellent," she said finally, wiping the tears from her eyes. "Let me call John; he'll bring Zhaana immediately."

Scorpius raised a hand. "It's not that simple. Unfortunately, word has reached High Command of this situation. They've instructed that the child not be treated until -" He paused, then finished, "Until Crichton has surrendered all information on wormholes."

Aeryn stared at him, slowly blinked. "What?"

"The interrogator who obtained the information has already been terminated. The information itself has already been sealed behind a security clearance that I cannot access. High Command is not open to negotiation." Scorpius met her gaze squarely. "We don't have much time, Aeryn. If Crichton would make a token gesture - say, a few equations - I believe High Command would act on his good faith to save his child. Your child."

Scorpius continued talking, but the words made no sense. She felt as if she were a thousand metras away, watching a drama that had nothing to do with her. Funny, she could even see how the drama would end. The desperate father of the dying child would exchange anything to save his daughter. He would belong to the Peacekeepers, kept by them until he was useless, at which point he would be destroyed so that he wouldn't share his knowledge with anyone else. Arns or days, monens or cycles - he'd never be with his family again, would never be free again. Millions and millions would suffer and die as a result of the exchange, but his daughter would live. He'd agree to anything to save his child, because he was an excellent parent.

Unlike the child's mother.

Aeryn stumbled back a few steps, turned away from Scorpius. "I won't allow this," she said, her voice low and emotionless.

"There are no alternatives and time is running out," Scorpius replied. "You were once a soldier, Officer Sun. Be a soldier again, and call Crichton."

In one fluid movement she turned on him, pulse pistol in her hands. "I'll kill you right now if you don't give me the cure." She pressed the muzzle to his head, where the coolant suit couldn't possibly protect him.

Scorpius stood very still. "Killing me will change nothing. Your child will still die."

They held gazes for a long time. Finally she lowered her weapon. Maintaining eye contact, she said slowly, "You know I can't have more children. You know this child is innocent. Even you have to know that."

"I would give you the cure if I had it - you must know that," Scorpius answered in the same measured tone. "But this is not under my control. Everything lives and everything dies, Aeryn Sun. Make your decision."

[]

Crichton left Zhaana with Chiana. D'Argo offered to go with him, and he accepted.

"Scorpius must know something. Aeryn wouldn't have gone without telling me, otherwise," Crichton said.

D'Argo listened to their steps echoing down Moya's halls and said nothing.

Bringing her prowler back into the docking bay, Aeryn popped the canopy and sat listening to the low thrum of Moya.

Moya, Moya - was this what it felt like for you, watching Talyn die?

Slowly she climbed down, out of the prowler.

I killed your father for you, Xhalax had once boasted proudly.

She left the prowler behind, slowly went into the adjacent cargo bay.

"I won't choose between them," she said softly. The, again, loudly, "I won't choose between them!"

She swiped everything from the nearest workbench, sent tools and supplies crashing to the floor.

They called it a choice, Xhalax had said.

"I won't choose!" Aeryn shouted. She picked up a crate and threw it into a bulkhead. "I won't choose!"

She threw tools, kicked crates, crushed and destroyed anything she could find until finally she slumped to the deck, exhausted, still saying, "I won't choose."

"Officer Sun?" Pilot asked.

"Leave me the fuck alone!" she screamed at him, then began to giggle. Crichton had taught her that word and poor Pilot probably didn't even know what it meant. She laughed and cried and wept and laughed until she abruptly stopped.

"I won't choose," she muttered softly.

"Are you finished now?"

Rygel slowly brought his thronesled into the bay, carefully keeping out of her reach. "You've made quite a mess."

"More than you know," she answered. For a moment the laughter bubbled up again, then suddenly disappeared. "I'll never be able to fix everything."

"You're farbot, Aeryn," Rygel told her. "I truly mean that. You've blamed yourself so much for everything that you've finally gone insane. Look at yourself."

She shook her head. "It doesn't change a frelling thing."

"No," the Hynerian agreed. After a moment he added, "I take it Scorpius couldn't get the antidote?"

True enough. "No."

Rygel dared to float closer. "Listen, Aeryn. We aren't friends. I don't think you even like me, and I know I could do fine without you. Thus, when I tell you you're not to blame for this mess, you should know I'm not just saying it to make you feel better. I don't care how you feel."

He was trying to make her smile.

Aeryn only looked at him.

He sighed. "It's not your fault, Aeryn. It's not Crichton's fault or D'Argo's fault, or Chiana's or Noranti's or Pilot's or Moya's fault. It's not my fault. Bad things happen sometimes. There's no reason; they just happen. But even though you didn't cause this disaster, you are the one who's going to have to live with it." He lowered his thronesled, came very close to her. He put out one of his short arms, gently ran a hand over the top of her head.

"I am truly sorry, Aeryn," he said quietly.

She closed her eyes.

[]

"Where is she?" Crichton demanded.

Scorpius shook his head. "Gone. Back to Moya, I'd assumed."

"Why did you summon her?" D'Argo countered. He felt certain the halfbreed was behind this. They should kill him now, slice him into multiple pieces and ship each one to a different part of the galaxy, just to make sure he stayed dead this time.

Scorpius dismissed him with a contemptuous glance. "I informed her that the last Hokothian had died. I do not have the antidote."

Crichton turned on his heel and left the office, saying nothing.

"I don't believe you, you frelling liar," D'Argo said on the human's behalf.

[]

She stands in the shadows, watching the Nebari rock a small bundle of silk. The grey girl is singing in an eerie lullaby, high pitched and wavering, in a language that doesn't translate through the microbes. The silk bundle is silent.

Her child is dying.

It's no one's fault. She understands that now. Her child's death is no one's fault.

She's never going to tell Crichton that things could have gone otherwise.

"Chiana."

The Nebari turns, startled, ready to flee. The time for running is over, Aeryn could have told her. There's nowhere left to go. She moves towards the Nebari slowly, no need to hurry - what will happen, will happen, no matter what she does. Nothing matters.

She can't feel anything. The anger, the guilt, the desperation - all emotion has gone, leaving her free, unconcerned - empty.

Chiana holds the child out to her. Zhaana is burning to the touch, a fire smothered by silk. Chiana is watching her with wide, unblinking eyes, looking for a sign of hope, the faintest signal that the battle is not lost.

But it is.

The Nebari bursts into tears, great wracking sobs. "Can't you -"

She reaches out to the girl. If she could feel anything, she would feel sorry for the girl. "Thank you, Chiana." She takes the child and turns away from Chiana's grief.

She shouldn't grieve. It's not her fault.

Zhaana looks up at her with Crichton's eyes.

"It's not that I don't love you," she softly tells the child. "I do. I really, really do. The Peacekeepers would use wormhole technology to kill billions - not only Scarrens, but anyone who challenged them. They'd kill your father. They'd kill me. Eventually, they'd kill everyone. I can't allow that to happen. I can't put that burden on you."

The child slowly blinks.

She smiles at the infant. "You're very beautiful, you know. I'm sorry that you had to be born to us: a mother who gets you into trouble, a father who keeps you there. But we do love you, little one. And we tried. We tried very hard." She sighs. "Listen, listen to me carefully. Humans have souls, Peacekeepers don't. I don't know where that leaves you. Maybe you don't have a soul, and in that case, I really have frelled you over. But maybe you do have one. I want to believe that you take after your father in that respect."

For a brief moment, Zhaana smiles.

"Good girl," she praises. "Now, listen - this is important. You may get a choice about your next assignment. Ask to be sent to your father's planet. It's called Earth. It's not a perfect planet - Cholak knows it's not perfect. I won't scare you by telling you about the technology. But the planet itself is beautiful, possibly the most beautiful place I've ever been. They have forests and animals of all kinds, and the people - well, they're human. Some good, some bad, most a mixture of both. But you'll have a chance there, Zhaana, a chance to be...more." She smiles at the child. "And they have this wonderful thing there called rain. We almost named you that, you know. Rain. The first time I saw it -" She laughs softly. "Well, that's another story. I guess - I guess you won't get to hear that one."

It isn't anyone's fault. The child is dying, and no one's to blame - but frell, they'd been ignorant, blind fools to think they could raise a child in this universe.

Or maybe they'd just been innocent.

The infant's eyes have closed. She is beginning to tremble.

"I am so sorry," Aeryn tells her softly. "I don't even know a song to sing for you. Some mother I am."

"Aeryn."

She turns. John is standing there, watching her. How long he's been there, she doesn't know. It doesn't matter.

Zhaana is trembling harder now, almost shaking.

John comes to her, circles behind her. He wraps his arms over hers so that they both hold the child, sets his chin on her shoulder so that they stand cheek to cheek.

"What a pretty little girl," he whispers softly, the same words he'd said the first time he saw his daughter. "What a pretty little girl."

#end#


End file.
